


From My Hands (Into Your Mouth)

by lola381pce, RainGirl696



Series: Who's Your Daddy? (That little Shit) [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Young Avengers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BAMF Lucky, BAMF Maria Hill, BAMF Phil Coulson, BBQ, Consensual Sex, Deaf Clint Barton, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Farting, Food Sex, Fury is a dick, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Mentions of eating deer meat., Mentions of hunting, Mutual Pining, Nipple Play, Parent Nick Fury, Rough Sex, Rough but concensual sex, Sandwiches, Texas, Voyeurism, consensual voyeurism, cowboy hat, fart jokes, houston, rodeo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-13 11:53:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5706715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lola381pce/pseuds/lola381pce, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainGirl696/pseuds/RainGirl696
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been over a year since Phil found out he had gotten (and given) a blow job from his best friend’s son. </p><p>“Marcus?”</p><p>“Cheese!”</p><p>Silence.</p><p>Phil sighed. “You phoned me.”</p><p>Fury chuckled. “Just fucking with you. Man! You sound stressed. I think you need to find ‘Hickey Boy’ and get laid again.”</p><p>Seriously?! Why was this his life?</p><p>“Marcus. I’m trying to run a business here. A multi-million dollar business that you have shares in.”</p><p>“Bull-shit. You were just sitting there with your hand on your cock, dreamin’ about ‘Hickey Boy’.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 4 girls, 3 guys, 2 dicks, and a dog

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Baby Boy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2284770) by [Not_You](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You). 



> Hey guys im am so excited to bring you the next installment of Who's your daddy thanks in a large part to my new Co-author Lola381pce! It got really long so we split up,but it is pretty much mostly written. Oh and its filthy really realy filthy. Your welcome! Read review and enjoy!
> 
> I don't think you need to read the first story to understand this one. But I do recommend it, who doesn't like blow jobs after all ;)

It had been over a year since Phil found out he had gotten (and given) a blow job from his best friend’s son. And it still scared the hell out of him. Not that he’d done much about it since then other than to take the note Clint had left him out of the drawer with the intention of throwing it away only to put it back again. 

  


Besides in that period he’d spent so much time with Hill, he didn’t know when he burped or she farted (and boy, could she!). They’d been working primarily on the Boeing contract which had finally come through plus a few other bits and pieces when they were needed but there were interviews and background checks and security checks and training programmes and site visits and they were, quite frankly, fucking knackered. And grumpy. But the worst was over now. Their people were in place, systems were working well within expectations and the people at Boeing had finally begun to trust them. It takes a long time for large organizations to become comfortable with someone else taking over their security but he was glad they had eventually been accepted. It made things so much easier in the long run.

  


Hill was now on a few weeks of well-earned leave and he was thinking about taking some time off when she came back. He just wasn’t sure what to do with himself. Should he go away… probably not. He’d been travelling a fair amount recently and couldn’t really be bothered spending more time in airports. Maybe take a drive across country with Lola. Promising but perhaps a tad lonely on his own. And for a moment, Clint popped into his mind. Naked and stretched out on his bed. He shook his head in an attempt to empty it of  _ that _ thought. But the image of his tight firm muscles and pretty cock accompanied by the filthy sounds of him moaning and whimpering as Phil sucked him off soon came back again. 

  


Phil’s hand dropped to his crotch to gently massage his dick as it began to harden and swell. It wasn’t the first time he’d jerked off to the memory of that night, far from it. Knowing he had no immediate appointments, he made sure his door was locked and leaned back in his chair closing his eyes and groaning as he rubbed himself through the material of his pants. After a few moments of gentle squeezing and tugging he carefully unfastened his zipper and removed his cock grunting as his calloused hand moved over his hot, hard flesh. 

  


Sure! Of course that’s when his cell phone chose to ring. God fucking dammit! Fury’s ringtone (Imperial March - Darth Vader’s theme - obvious but appropriate nonetheless). How the fuck did he know? Phil’s hard-on deflated as quickly as it appeared. Tucking himself back in his pants, he answered the phone.

  


“Marcus?”

  
“Cheese!”

  


Silence.

  


Phil sighed. “You phoned me.”

  


Fury chuckled. “Just fucking with you.  _ Man _ ! You sound  _ stressed _ . I think you need to find ‘Hickey Boy’ and get laid again.”

  


Seriously?! Why was this his life?

  


“Marcus. I’m trying to run a business here. A multi-million dollar business that you have shares in.”

  


“ _ Bull _ -shit. You were just sitting there with your hand on your cock,  _ dreamin’ _ about ‘Hickey Boy’.”

  


Phil froze in his chair. He would seriously have to search his office for a camera.

  


“Marcus.” There was a warning note in Phil’s voice which even Fury couldn’t ignore.

  


“Alright, Cheese. Alright. Be at my house. Friday night at...I dunno. Seven. Bring beer. We need to celebrate this deal. Fucking great job, you and Hill. I’ll send the little shit for take out.”

  


Fuck! What? 

  


“Marcus. I can’t…” but he was speaking to dead air. The Lord of the Dark Side had gone. 

  


Phil threw himself back in his chair. He could probably come up with some excuse not to go to Marcus’ place but the scary bastard would probably end up driving round and dragging him there anyway. Best that he go and find a way to let Clint know it couldn’t happen again. It wouldn’t be...right.

  


He picked up his cell which had started back into life again. “And change your fucking ringtone. That shit’s not funny anymore.”

  


***

  


That Friday found Phil on Marcus’s doorstep in Conroe, north of Houston proper, at 7:15 (just to be an ass). Just because there was no reasonable way out of this didn't mean he had to be a pushover. 

  


Although maybe it was for the best. This way he could set boundaries for them and perhaps maintain the relationship they  _ should _ have - uncle and nephew. He cringed to himself. That would only work if he could get the sounds of Clint's beautiful whimpers and cries of pleasure out of his head. He really didn't see that happening any time soon. 

  


Before Phil's knuckles ever met the large oak door, it flew open revealing the man he liked to think was to blame for his predicament. His best friend just  _ had _ to adopt the kid, didn't he?

  


“Cheese! Get your ass in here. It's middle of fucking January. You'll freeze your balls off!” He bellowed, giving Phil a wide grin as he eyed up the crate of beer nestled in his friend’s arms; Hoppadilla, his favourite he noted with pleasure. He knew there was a reason he loved the man.

  


Hmmm, freeze his balls off; if only he was that lucky. That would solve everything. “It's not even fifty degrees,” Phil told him in a mildly scornful tone. He stepped inside handing over the crate and shucking off his leather jacket. While they moved through the house to the enormous kitchen, he tried to get a sense if there was anyone else was there but thank God for small mercies; Clint was nowhere to be seen. 

  


As if hearing his thoughts (and it was Marcus so it was entirely possible), the other man called out, with his head in the fridge putting the bottles away to chill, “The boy stepped out for Chinese, but who knows what he’ll actually come back with. Beer.”

  


“Yes please. Do you really need to ask?” Phil commented blandly as he kicked back in the awful blue reclining sofa that had been planted against the wall years ago. Sure the colour would burn out your retinas but it was a comfortable thing and he’d spent many a night asleep (passed out) after a monster drinking session with his old Rangers buddy before eventually stumbling through to the spare bed. 

  


He untied his tie, letting it hang around his neck, unbuttoned his collar and rolled up his sleeves as he did every evening. That done, he could feel himself begin to relax. He would later curse himself for not thinking properly, that or his subconscious was out to get him (laid). 

  


“Wasn't asking Cheese,” Marcus  told  assured him as he sat in the black leather  LazyBoy La-Z-Boy recliner beside him and handed him a beer. 

  


Phil was able to catch Marcus up a bit and tell him how good it was they wrapped up the Boeing contract when they had because last week Maria shot the water cooler after Stark put something in it that made it spontaneously change colors. The other man barked with laughter. He could see Hill doing exactly that. Phil was glad he saw the funny side; had it gone on any longer she probably would have shot Stark instead. And he still had no idea what any of that had to do with octopi and state of the art camouflage. And he still had to replace the water cooler.

  


After discussing the more important elements of the contract and reminiscing for a while, his friend excused himself to take a call because apparently lawyers had nothing better to do then harass him. Phil snorted. He knew that feeling all too well but for him it was clients. 

  


While he waited, he picked up a book Marcus appeared to be reading ‘The Count of Monte Cristo’. He hadn’t looked at this in years. It was a great story. He slipped on his glasses from his shirt pocket to read his favourite part, being careful not to lose Marcus’s place - he was quite happy having his balls where they were - and was soon lost in the world of Dumas and Dante.

  


Phil wasn't alone for long. He heard the locks turning and the door open to reveal the man who had been haunting his fantasies for over year, standing in cargo shorts and a Montana t-shirt no less. His stomach twisted and his lungs seemed to stopped functioning; he was still gorgeous. He also looked terribly shocked. 

  


Clint froze in the doorway, his jaw falling open when he saw Phil sitting in his kitchen; shirt unbuttoned, tie loose, sleeves rolled up (those arms! Fuck!). He didn’t know what was hotter; the meticulous way the cuffs had been turned over or the muscled sexy-as-fuck forearms that had become uncovered. And wearing glasses...black thick-rimmed glasses. Fuck! He looked like some wet dream version of a college professor.

  


Phil said the first slightly intelligent thing that came to mind that wasn’t come home with me. It was, “You're not from around here are you?” If he could have face-palmed himself without looking like an even bigger dork, he would have.

  


Clint's baffled expression quickly faded to smirk. “It’s that obvious, huh?” He retorted as he lugged several bags of what was most likely takeout to the counter. 

  


Phil said nothing no longer trusting himself to come out with something that wasn’t vulgar or stupid as he watched Clint intently; the muscles and veins of his arms and neck straining and rippling beneath the skin as he moved. Against his will, his cock made it known how absolutely stunning the young man looked like that twitching appreciatively in his pants. Phil ran his tongue over his lips without thinking. It really wasn't fair that that delectable young hard body was now forbidden fruit.

  


As it happens the decision to say anything, or indeed move, was taken from him when a golden blur streaked in from the yard and launched itself at the couch landing in Phil’s lap trying to lick every patch of bare skin it could find, tail wagging frantically. Clint knew how his dog felt. He wouldn’t mind doing the same right now.

  


“Aww, dog, no! Shit! Sorry, Phil. Lucky, heel.”

  


After one last flick of his tongue, Lucky jumped down immediately making his way to Clint. He sat down to his right side, shoulder pressed against Clint’s leg looking up at him with his one good eye, ears high and alert waiting for his next command.

  


“Really, Phil, I’m so sorry. He doesn’t usually behave like that. He knows better. You okay?”

  


Apart from being slightly dazed and covered in dog spit, Phil was fine. He’d just managed to get his hands over his dick before Lucky landed so at least he knew his balls were okay...had he been any harder he might not have been so lucky, both puns intended. He nodded to Clint and gave him quick flash of a grin.

  


Clint gave him a relieved smile and threw him a towel to dry off. He’d been on the receiving end of a paw in the balls from Lucky himself and suffice to say it wasn’t the kind of throbbing he particularly enjoyed.

  


“Thank fuck for that. I’d hate for that gorgeous cock of yours to get busted by my asshole of a dog.” His eyes widened as he realised what he’d blurted out. The fuck? Face burning, he turned away grabbing the bags and began pulling random packages and boxes out.

  


Phil’s eyes also grew wider. He didn’t know what to say without making things worse. He did however get up to help him unload the bags. He was feeling rather peckish and it would speed things along. Actually as he caught a wiff of the mouthwatering smells coming from the bags, peckish didn’t cover it; ravenous was more like it. It was then he remembered he hadn’t managed to find time for lunch earlier in the day so the food was definitely welcome - and would hopefully be a good distraction from thinking about...or lusting over...Clint. All would be fine, he just had to act natural (easier said than done). Maybe Clint wasn’t even interested in another go, and he was worried for nothing. Although after that last comment he wasn’t so sure.

  


As it turned out the food was certainly not Chinese. Sandwiches judging by the butcher paper wrappings. 

  


“I know we Texans are known for their big portions, but were you planning on feeding an army?” Phil asked as he spread several neatly wrapped parcels and Styrofoam containers out on the counter. 

  


Glad that Phil had let his last comment slide, Clint grinned at him. “I just told the girls at 4 Girls Deli to load me up with their favorites. Pop said he was expecting company, he didn't say who or how many. Just something about a healthy option for a heart condition. ” Clint replied with a quizzical look on his face.

  


Phil sighed. That bastard. “Just because I don't think a deep fried bacon cheese burger, french fries, and fried twinkies is a balanced meal, and that I actually like vegetables it doesn't mean I have a heart condition.”

  


“What you mean that's not a balanced meal? Lettuce is vegetable and tomato is a fruit; there's meat, and carbs, and the cheese and twinkie cream are dairy,” Clint asked in confusion as he handed Phil a package marked V.P 

  


“And enough cholesterol to kill an elephant. Also if Twinkie cream were dairy how would it survive a nuclear apocalypse?” Phil pointed out as they took their seats on the couch with food in hand (and Clint far too close for his sanity). They both knew better than to wait for Clint’s pop; the man could talk the hind legs off a donkey if he was in a mood to.

  


Upon unwrapping their sandwiches, Phil noticed two things that seemed terribly wrong. “Clint? Why do I have no meat at all and you have nothing but mountains roast beef and bacon?” he asked suspiciously, poking at the contents of his sandwich while staring longingly at Clint's.

  


“Well Tina said their vegetarian panini, whatever the fuck that is, was the most heart healthy thing they had. And mine is actually prime rib, but I had them add a bunch of extra bacon to it. I couldn't decide between the BLT and prime rib so Karen suggest this. There's lettuce and tomato too...uh somewhere on here. It's still awesome with the horseradish sauce.”

  


Wordlessly Phil grabbed the corner of Clint's paper and slid it next to his own. He opened both sandwiches and took a heap of the bacon and a slice of prime rib from Clint’s and dispersed it on his own.

  


“Awe, bacon, no.”

  


“I may not have a heart condition but _you_ _will_ if I let you eat all that. You're welcome. Besides you owe me for shorting me on meat.”

  


When Phil took a bite the orgasm that happened on his tongue told him Clint's bacon and beef went perfectly with his guacamole, cheese, vegetables and pesto. He closed his eyes and let out a filthy groan as the flavours flooded his taste buds. Fuck! That was good. Eyes still closed, he smiled while he chewed slowly releasing a small sigh of pleasure as he did so. The tip of his tongue darted out between his lips to catch a stray bit of sauce before disappearing back inside to rejoin the party. 

  


Clint’s hands paused halfway to his mouth, his sandwich all but forgotten. His dick became half-hard in his pants in that instant. Phil enjoying his food like that was the hottest fucking thing he’d ever heard, including their night of blowjobs. He was torn between watch him finish the sandwich and tearing it from his hands and sticking his tongue in his mouth to see if it got the same reaction. 

  


“You're not eating. Is something wrong?” 

  


Phil’s voice startled him out of the pornographic thoughts he was having. For the second time that evening, Clint's cheeks flushed a pretty shade. He was suddenly aware of their close proximity heightened by the warmth from Phil’s thigh against his own. He’d often wondered how he would feel if he ever saw Phil again but the intensity of his feelings took him by surprise. He looked, smelled and sounded amazing and if he got through this evening without jumping him he would deserve a fucking medal.

  


Instead of answering, he ripped a bite out of his own sandwich making sure the meat juices ran down his chin. He swiped his fingers across his lips and then slowly drew them into his mouth sucking the stickiness from his fingers as suggestively as he could. 

  


This time it was Phil who stopped and watched. He swallowed hard trying not to imagine Clint’s fingers in  _ his _ mouth as he licked them clean. Or his cock. Either would be good but the thought of both was making his dick stir again with a definite interest. Jesus! He had to get a grip...of his emotions. This was getting fucked up.

  


“I’m not doing this,” Phil told him in no uncertain terms putting the sandwich down, moving out of his reach.

  


Clint narrowed his eyes at the older man. Bit of an over the top reaction he thought. He’d just been messing, trying to get a rise out of him...his dick preferably. He’d kinda hoped for a bit of a blowjob rematch but it looked like Phil wasn't in a sociable mood tonight. Still no reason for him to act like he had a stick up his ass. Fuck him! “I don’t know what  _ this _ is, Phil but I suggest you stop fucking with me.”

  


He took another huge bite of his sandwich and told him with a sneer, “You’re more of a fucked up asshole than I am. Who knew!”

  


“Jesus, Clint! That’s no way to speak to your Uncle Cheese!”

  


Clint nearly died there and then on the couch. One: he hadn’t heard his old man enter the kitchen and two: what the  _ fuck _ now? He gaped at Fury (bastard had a huge shit-eating grin on his face) then at Phil (who at least had the decency to look uncomfortable). His eyes almost bugged out as his mouthful of sandwich became stuck in his throat and he choked trying to dislodge it. 

  


Fury smirked taking a swig of his beer making no effort to help. Phil rolled his eyes at his friend and shook his head - the man could be such an asshole sometimes. He gave Clint two sharp blows between the shoulderblades which had the desired effect and Clint coughed then began to breathe again.

  


“You have  _ got _ to be shitting me?” he said finally, his eyes still watering. “ _ He’s _ Uncle Cheese?”

  


“What? You look like someone pissed in your Lucky Charms. Not you, asshole,” he said to the dog whose ears had perked up at the mention of his name. “Who else do you think I’d trust to get you into S.W.A.T.? More importantly, where’s my motherfucking sandwich? And you better not have put any pickles in it again. Who the fuck puts pickles in a Philly cheese steak double meat with provolone? No-one, that’s who!”

“One time. One time I did that. I didn’t know it came with bell peppers and onion and it was a major crime (all three of them saluted) to put pickles in it. You eat pickles in fucking everything else!”

  


“ _ Sand _ -wich?”

  


“ _ Coun- _ ter.” 

  


Clint was trying to act as normally as he could but truthfully, he was still reeling from the bombshell that had just been dropped. If he’d known Phil was his pop’s best friend he’d never have looked at him twice. Well he would but he wouldn’t have tried to suck his brains out of his head through his dick, that was for sure. Fuck! The number of times he’d jacked off in the shower to that particular memory. No, no, no, no, noooooo! That image was no longer welcome in his spank bank even though it was pride of place in the collection. Ahh! Who was he kidding - it would always be in the number one slot. He’d never get that night out of his head.

  


Phil was watching their interaction with amusement. It was frightening how alike the two men were given that Fury wasn’t his biological father. But the older man did have a personality that rubbed off on you if you weren’t careful. He smiled and shook his head huffing out a gentle laugh.

  


“The fuck you looking at?” Fury demanded as he threw himself back into his chair taking a giant mouthful of his Philly.

  


“I was just thinking how warm and fuzzy this family shit with you two is making me.”

  


“You’re such a sarcastic prick, Cheese,” snarked his friend taking another bite. Phil tipped his beer at him in agreement.

  


In between mouthfuls of food and beer, Fury and Phil reminisced about their Army Ranger days telling Clint about some of the scary shit they had done and some of the pranks they had pulled. He tried to join in as best laughing in all the right places but his heart wasn’t really in it. He kept mulling over the news of earlier and what it would mean to Phil and him...maybe nothing, maybe everything, until Fury finally snarked, “Fuck, son! Did someone take a shit in your Lucky Charms as well as a piss?”

  


Phil gave Clint a sympathetic look. He was now, where Phil had been a few weeks earlier. But at least he had had the time to make peace with the fact he wasn’t going to have anything to do with his sniper _the_ sniper (he wasn’t his sniper any more). Not sexually anyway. But seeing him again was making it difficult to keep the promise he’d made to himself. Especially when he was sitting so close beside him…

  


“Seriously, what’s up?” Fury leaned forward with his elbows on his knees making Clint the focus of his attention.

  


“Fuck, it’s nothing, pop. Just leave it, huh?”

  


But Nick Fury liked to pick at a bone till it was clean and this one appeared to have a lot of juicy meat on it. “C’mon, kid. Spill. What’s got you uncharacteristically quiet this fine evening. Normally you’re talking so much shit that I can’t piss without hearing you in my ear from three rooms away. You feeling ill? You in  _ love _ ? You gotta girlfriend? You gotta  _ boyfriend _ ?”

  


Clint took an angry pull of his beer and glared. 

  


Fury leaned back in his seat, a stunned look on his face. “Well shit! You  _ are _ fucking someone!

  


Phil was beginning to feel awkward. Not because of Clint, families argued and pissed each other off, but because his old friend was getting uncomfortably close to the truth.

  


“Well who’da thought someone would want to fuck an ugly little shit like you.”

  


Phil felt something flare up inside him at the other man’s words. He needed to reign in his instincts to protect - Clint wasn’t his to defend not did he need it - however he couldn’t quite stop himself from reacting completely. His eyes narrowed and the muscle in his jaw jumped before his face settled back into that carefully deadpan look he’d cultivated years ago. Gently he put his bottle down on the coffee table beside him and sat back on the couch. Before he could stop himself, he asked in a quiet, calm voice “Is that really appropriate?”

  


Fury turned his head towards him and raised his eyebrow. “Say  _ what _ now?”

  


Clint burst out laughing. For a moment neither man moved each holding the gaze of the other but as Clint continued to cackle they looked in his direction.

  


“You two are fucking hilarious. Pop, you’re such a ballsac. I’ve had more action in the last six months than you’ve had in your lifetime. And you, _Uncle_ _Cheese_ ,” he said it with such scorn  it set Phil’s teeth on edge (but only slightly less so than the implication of the amount of sex the kid was having without him), “should know when pop’s fucking with you. Seriously man, I’ve met you twice and now you’re all Wooooo!” Clint rolled his fingers in ‘spooky’ gesture to emphasize his point.

  


Fury stared at his son for a moment then turned to Cheese and asked “Beer?”

  


Phil stared at Clint for the same moment then turned to Marcus and nodded “Beer.”

  


The tension that had been in the air for those few seconds vanished and Clint looked at them, mystified. He had no idea what had just occurred but it gave him the strangest feeling. He was actually kind of glad when Lucky crept onto the couch and draped himself over Clint and Phil and he rubbed the dog’s ears who sighed appreciatively and relaxed even further into his impression of a dog comforter. It also had the benefit of pushing Clint and Phil’s thighs against each other but nobody mentioned it.

  


Fury came back from the fridge with a couple of beers for each of them (he had big hands) and announced to Clint as he gave him a couple, “Here ya go boy, this is a real beer, brewed right here in H-town. Full of hops and bitter like your soul. Not that Miller pisswater shit you've been drinkin. This'll put some hair on yer chest. Lord knows you need you need it.”  Silently Phil disagreed with his assessment...about Clint’s chest, not about the beer.

  


Clint scoffed. “Says the man who looks like a goddamned shaved Chia Pet with his shirt off.”

  


Once again he and Phil got back into storytime as though nothing weird had just happened but now it was post army and into SHIELD territory which made Cint ask about Maria Hill. Fury and Phil gave each other a look that Clint couldn’t quite read which, of course, piqued his curiosity further. 

  


“Ah c’mon...there’s obviously something there. What does she do that makes you both look like you shit your pants?”

  


As if on cue Lucky chose that moment to make it known just how relaxed he was. Unfortunately for Phil he was at the end nearest ground zero and within a few seconds of silent but deadly detonation, he coughed and then choked as his eyes began to tear up. “Fuck dog! That’s rancid!”

  


His watery gaze caught Fury’s and they both uttered with a mixture of fear and fondness in their tone “Biohazard Hill.”

  


No more was said for a few moments as the outbreak of retching and fighting for breath made its way around the room but once it reached Fury, service dog or not, Lucky was ejected from the kitchen to the yard where he stared mournfully at them through the patio window.

  


“So, Biohazard Hill,” prompted Clint when the worst of the smell had dispersed and the coughing fits had subsided. “I’m guessing it’s got nothing to do with a degree in chemical engineering.”

  


“You’ve never told him?” Phil didn’t exactly  _ say _ he was disappointed in his friend but it was heavily implied in his tone of voice.

  


Fury took a swig of his beer and replied somewhat prickly, “It never really came up. Besides it’s not exactly appropriate conversation for the dinner table.”

  


“I’ve eaten at your dinner table. It’s entirely appropriate and totally at the correct level.”

  


“But it’s Maria Hill, Cheese. She knows things,” he whined. 

  


“Fuck’s sake, Marcus! She’s not goddamned Santa Claus!”

  


Actually it  _ was _ like Christmas Day for Clint. He’d never seen someone put his pop on the defensive like this and he was enjoying the living shit out of it but enough was enough. “Dudes! Biohazard Hill?”

  


Phil pointed his bottle at Fury for him to do the honours. The other man sighed and then smirked. “Bulgaria?”

  


Phil shivered in disgust then nodded hiding his grin behind his bottle. Meanwhile Fury wiggled his ass in his seat to make himself more comfortable and raised his feet onto the coffee table in front of him. Satisfied, he placed his elbows on the armrests, laced his fingers together and began the tale of Biohazard Hill.

  


“First, son. You have understand, the smell that came out of your dog’s ass tonight is nothing,  _ nothing _ compared with Biohazard. In 2010 Cheese, Hill and I were on an op in Bulgaria. Things had gone tits up thanks to shoddy intel and we were stranded in a place on the coast called Varna. It was going to be three days before we could be extracted and Hill had caught a bullet to the shoulder, nothing serious but we couldn’t exactly go sightseeing so Cheese and I took it in turns to go for food. Hill had developed a taste for some shit called Shkembe Chorba which is the meanest, nastiest substance to eat you can imagine. Fucking tripe soup. So that and some other crap called Banitsa a kinda...I dunno…” 

  


He looked over to Phil who described it as being a filo pastry dish made with eggs and cheese but the place they got if from did it with onions which, sadly, Hill loved. Nice enough on its own but not a lethal combination with Shkembe Chorba (for Hill at any rate). Fury nodded with a sour look on his face - a bit like a bulldog chewing a lemon - and continued. 

  


“Well, anyhow that was all she would eat. So, after the first day we began to think there was something wrong with the safe house. A weird smell sorta happening. Cheese and I both checked for shit on our shoes, gas leaks, dead animals but we couldn’t find anything. So on the second day it got worse but we noticed it always seemed to be after meals for maybe a coupla hours but we  _ still _ couldn’t find anything. And on the last night we found out what was causing it. Fucking Biohazard Hill had been dropping silent but deadlies for three days. Never said a word, her expression never changed, sitting there looking like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth but on that last night she miscalculated and instead of it being silent… the fucking thing...the…”

  


Phil snorted and took over as Fury started laughing so hard at the memory he couldn’t speak. “On the last night, she miscalculated and let rip so loud and so hard, it reverberated around the room and across the couch where we were all sitting on. And the smell. Fuck! Your old man and I had to leave the house. I threw up in the bushes and he lost his dinner in a plant box.”

  


It was a mix of Phil’s deadpan delivery, Fury’s hysterics and the thought of the beautiful woman who had held him at gunpoint in Phil’s office dropping farts that could made two grown men lose their lunch that made Clint spray beer out of his nose and over his t-shirt.

  


“Awww fuck, son! That’s goddam nasty!” choked Fury and laughed even harder. By this time Phil had given up all effort of remaining straight-faced and was snorting and giggling, tears starting to spill. And Clint was gone completely, sliding off the couch onto the floor, clutching his sides gasping for breath. It’s not that story was  _ that _ funny, more that they were feeding off each other; the booze didn’t hurt either.

  


Finally, when the laughter had quietened down, Clint sat back up on the couch.

  


“Nuh-uh, little shit. Get your ass through to the head and clean up. Your choice but if you don’t, you can join that smelly-assed dog of yours outside.”

  


Clint huffed and rolled his eyes and stomped off like a sulky teenager. It was mostly for show and perhaps he was a little buzzed from the beer too but when he caught a wiff of himself yeah, he did stink like a brewery. A dunk in the sink seemed like a good plan.

  


Phil watched his retreating back fondly before turning back to Fury. “Good kid you raised there, Marcus. Messy as fuck but a good kid.”

  


“Yeah, moments like these make me so proud,” he deadpanned. His face became serious though and once again he lean forward in his chair. “Actually, Cheese, I’m glad you think so. I need a favour.”

  


Phil’s stomach lurched as it had a mild freak-out about what his old friend was going to ask. However keeping his expression and body language neutral, he raised querying eyebrow.

  


“I’m gonna be outta town for while. Not sure how long yet; but maybe a coupla weeks maybe longer. Anyway, the kid’s been wanting to move out, get his own place, stand on his own two feet...blah, blah, blah. I  _ was _ going to show him round. Let him see what he could get for his money. But…” He let the sentence hang and gave Phil a pathetic begging look. Basically he was asking Phil to do it for him.

  


It was a lot of faith his best friend was putting in him by asking him to look after his son (even if he had fucked that up already...admittedly Marcus didn’t know that and he hadn’t known Clint was his son when his cock was in Clint’s mouth). A multitude of thoughts ran through his head before he replied and not  _ all _ of them were inappropriate. It was only house hunting...what could possibly go wrong?

  


“Sure. Be glad to help,” he smiled just before Clint came back into the kitchen with damp hair sticking up all over the place and wearing a soft grey Henley. He looked...fantastic. Phil’s smile faltered for a second. Yeah...what could possibly go wrong.

  


*** 

  


The house was quiet when Phil got up to use the head. He could feel a slight ache beginning behind his eyes and decided caution was the better part of valour. He headed to the kitchen for a glass of water and aspirin if he could find them. Really he should have taken them through with him when he went to bed but his thoughts hadn't been so well structured then, the alcohol having kicked in some time round Biohazard Hill. He smiled at the memory of Clint losing it as they told him the stories.

  


The sandwich party had broken up a few hours later after they’d consumed the rest of the food and most of the beer. It had been a good night, if at times a little...stressful...having Clint beside him. There were moments he wanted to touch him; his thigh, his hand, his face. Phil shivered. But he’d sworn off the little shit. Marcus and he had too much history for him to fuck up that relationship by lusting after his kid. He sighed.

  


Kitchen, glass, water, aspirin; kitchen, glass, water, aspirin. He opened the wall cabinet, took out a glass and filled it with bottled water from the fridge. He downed most of it and wiped his mouth feeling better pretty much straightaway. Dehydration it was then. Maybe he’d get away without the aspirin. As he was refilling the glass he realised he was being watched from the doorway...

  


Clint had been lying awake unable to sleep. He wasn't drunk just horny. It had been torture sitting beside Phil all night and not being able to touch him. Him and his rolled up sleeves and sexy arms and chest hair and glasses. Clint’s dick twitched at the thought of him. Fuck! It was frustrating to know he was only a few rooms away probably sleeping naked under his sheets. However he’d made it pretty clear he wanted nothing more to do with him sexually for whatever reason.  

  


Clint huffed and rolled onto his side, dislodging Lucky from his comfortable position yet again. The dog grumbled and waited until his master had settled again before curling back into a tight ball at the crook of his knees. After a few moments Lucky whined and nudged his chin against Clint’s leg. He reached down and rubbed his ears. “Sorry boy. I know I’m being an asshole.” 

  


The dog whined again and this time jumped up bouncing against Clint’s leg with both front paws. He leaped off the bed ran to the door then back to bounce on Clint again. Either someone was at the door or had gone past it. Lucky wasn’t anxious just letting him know there was someone around.

  


Clint rubbed him under the chin telling him he was a good boy before instructing the dog to stay. He disappeared into his bathroom to wash his hands and put on his cochlear implant device again before he headed out to investigate. If it was his old man, no harm no foul. If it was Phil he had a few things he wanted to say to him. And so what if he was barely decent in his sleep shorts. At least his junk was covered and that had to mean something, right?

  


It  _ was _ Phil but anything he wanted to say died in his throat as watched the older man leaning against the counter in nothing but his boxer briefs take swallow after swallow of water, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he drank. It was a sight to behold and once again, Clint’s dick stirred in appreciation. Phil nearly finished the glass before stopping and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand (fucking hot) and refilling the glass. He looked fully absorbed in what he was doing so it wasn’t really his fault he flinched when Phil suggested,” You’d better come in rather than standing out there.”

  


Not feeling half as confident as he pretended, Clint swaggered across the kitchen to stand in front of him. Phil set his glass down on the kitchen surface and leaned the heels of his hands on edge opening his chest to him. Deliberate or not it was a pretty inviting position.

  


Clint licked his lips. “I can’t make up my mind if you look sexier now or with the hot professor look.”

  


“Clint…” 

  


“Don’t “Clint” me.” He took a step forward into Phil’s space so that they were standing nose to nose. “I know you want to fuck me. Just as much as I want you to.”

  


Phil closed his eyes barely suppressing a shiver. Clint was right. He did want to fuck him, right now, over the kitchen surface but nothing had changed. More irritated than he’d intended, Phil snapped, “Jesus, Clint. You’re my best friend’s son.”

  


“What the fuck has that got to do with anything?  Ya know a A few birthday cards with twenty bucks inside doesn't actually make you my uncle.” he hissed back, immediately feeling guilty. Earlier on this evening he had thought something similar. Pop’s best friend, look but don’t touch. Kinda hypocritical for him to be mad at Phil for the same thing. The expression of the older man’s face made Clint’s stomach lurch. He was losing him.

  


“Please, Phil. One last time. And if you don't wanna do it again…”

  


And Phil was on him, spinning him round and down so that Clint’s back was against the edge, his hands scrabbling for purchase on the surface as Phil leaned into him. One of Phil’s hands grabbed his hair pulling his head back, the other was on his throat, his mouth devouring Clint’s in a heated, messy kiss. His tongue breached Clint’s lips, sliding against the sniper’s exploring every inch inside his mouth. It was rough but calculated; **i** nstinctively Phil knew it was what the younger man wantedand he never came close to touching Clint's CI device. 

  


Clint's cock seemed to become instantly hard and pressed against Phil’s thigh. He moaned. Oh fuck! He never expected this. This was beyond his wildest hopes. It was demanding and brutal and he was loving every second of it. All he could think of was more.

  


Gradually the grip eased on his hair and Phil allowed him up into a more comfortable position. He was still in control though, make no mistake. Clint may have instigated it but it was going to happen on Phil’s terms. 

  


The hand on Clint's throat slid down his fevered skin slowly and deliberately, the light touch at odds with the ferocity of the kiss. Clint could imagine the muscles of Phil’s jaw working as he fucked his mouth with his tongue, flicking and thrusting inside. When his fingers reached his nipple, it was Phil’s nails that scratched over the surface of it, forcing it into a tight little nub. Clint gasped and writhed beneath Phil’s touch as he pinched it hard between his forefinger and thumb. He dropped his hand to Clint’s cock and was pleased to find it leaking pre-come in a steady stream through his briefs, the damp patch growing bigger as the seconds raced by.

  


Satisfied with Clint’s state of arousal, he dragged his fingernails back up Clint’s body feeling the muscles of his stomach flutter and dance. Reaching the nipple again, he rolled it and squeezed it, rubbing his thumb across it and just when Clint thought he would come from the pain / pleasure of it, Phil halted everything, tearing his mouth away to break the kiss giving them both a chance to breathe in short gasps and pants.

  


“Fuck... _ fuck _ ! Don’t stop. Please don’t stop,” Clint begged, his hips thrusting upwards rutting against Phil’s thigh, desperate for his cock to be touched.

  


Phil had no intention of stopping but he had no intention of giving the brat release either; not at that moment. Keeping hold of the sniper’s hair, he tugged Clint’s head to the side giving him access to his neck to trail a wet path down it with his tongue and lips tasting the sweat on his skin. Clint shivered and moaned and when he reached his already sensitive nipple circling his tongue around it, pulling it into his mouth to suck and nip it, Clint was almost sobbing. 

  


Phil’s hand dropped from Clint’s hip, where he’d seized it in a bruising grasp, to his cock and began to stroke the fulness of it through his briefs sliding round to his balls giving them a firm squeeze.  He pressed his hand between Clint’s thighs encouraging him to spread his legs further apart, allowing him better access and resumed his exploration through the soft cotton while the sniper shuddered and moaned. 

  


Phil abandoned Clint’s nipple. standing upright, to focus all his attention on the younger man’s groin, slipping his hand behind the elastic  _ finally _ touching the hot, smooth skin of his dick; Clint gasped jerking at the contact. Phil curled his hand around the shaft giving it loose, teasing strokes, his gun callouses dragging across his sensitive skin and pulling whimpers from the younger man that went straight to Phil’s own dick making it throb.

  


He released his hold on Clint’s hair, instead sliding his hand to the back of his neck taking it in a firm but gentle grip. In response, Clint clutched Phil’s shoulders pressing dents into his skin in an effort to remain upright as Phil worked him, twisting his hand over the head of Clint’s cock, gathering the pre-come using it to help his hand glide up and down his shaft. All the time Clint exhaled little gasps and grunts, his body tensing as he began to get close.

  


Feeling the changes in the sniper’s muscles, Phil tightened his grip and picked up his pace. He turned his body so that he was now fully facing Clint and pressed their foreheads together rubbing the back of Clint’s neck with his thumb.

  


“You close? You gonna be a good boy and come for me?” he whispered softly. It was enough to drag Clint over the edge. His body juddered and trembled as he came biting his lip to stop from crying out. 

  


“That’s it,” Phil encouraged stroking him through it loving the quiet, breathy little sounds Clint made as he slowly came down from the orgasm. “Fuck, you sound so gorgeous. You  _ look _ so gorgeous.”

  


He touched his lips to Clint in a gentle kiss, a reward for coming so beautifully for him; for them both. It was completely different from the fierce, almost desperate one from earlier. Clint sighed against his mouth, happy and sated as the come cooled on his belly and chest. That had been fucking intense.

  


Phil’s dick throbbed again reminding him of his own needs. Still with his left hand on Clint’s neck, he slipped the other into his boxer briefs, pushing them down, releasing his dick from its confines.  He gave it a few quick tugs then spotting some olive oil on the counter; he snagged it and twisted off the lid. Not wanting to let go of Clint, he handed it to the younger man and instructed, “Pour. Just a little,” holding out a cupped palm.

  


Still hazy from his orgasam, Clint was torn; he wanted to watch Phil mastubate but he also wanted to be the one who brought him to orgasm. It would definitely be hot to see Phil get himself off, maybe even too hot to miss. Decision made, he trickled a small amount into the other’s hand as requested glad that he was able to contribute something to Phil’s hand job. 

  


WIth a wasted smile playing across his lips, he watched mesmerised as Phil wrap his fist around his own cock squeezing and pulling it, gently building the spark of heat in his belly. Phil closed his eyes, lips parting slightly while he rubbed up and down his shaft the oil acting as a perfect lube. After witnessing Clint’s release, the older man knew it wouldn’t be too long before he followed and sure enough after a few more unhurried steady strokes, his balls began to tighten and his breathing hitched. Again he stepped up his pace, his fist slapping against the skin of his cock accompanied with a few quiet grunts until finally, with a muffled drawn-out groan behind clenched teeth, he came every bit as hard as Clint had done.

  
  
  



	2. Refusal to Compromise

  
  
  
  


A couple of weeks later, it seemed life hated Phil because here he was once again sitting at Marcus’s kitchen table with the one man he should really be avoiding. Only he couldn't really do that without giving away his dirty little secret. Worse yet, said man had no interested in being avoided or letting their… mistake, lay to rest. 

 

As if on cue Clint leaned back in his chair stretching his arms above his head. An innocent gesture in itself, but the way his tank top rode up, exposing that indecent strip of golden, toned stomach was making it difficult to concentrate. Very difficult. However Phil was a professional. He could do this.

 

With a firmly clenched jaw, and keeping his eyes fixed in front of him, Phil opened his laptop on the table next to Clint's. He wouldn't let the brat get to him; apparently he was the only adult here and he would act like it dammit. No matter how much he wanted to drop his mouth to that soft skin and suck his mark into it. He cleared his throat as he typed in his password, studiously ignoring the younger man.

 

“Alright. A few questions to start with. Do you know what you’re looking for; where you’d like to live; and how much you’d like to spend?” Phil asked with his eyes focused on the screen to pull up real-estate websites, certainly not on Clint stretching beside him. 

 

“Uh yeah. Something cheap; somewhere inexpensive; and as little as possible,” Clint replied lazily while leaning an elbow on the table trapping the knuckle of his thumb in between his teeth. 

 

Phil watched for only a second as Clint's tongue slid back and forth along his thumb, before he ripped his eyes away. His professionalism was being sorely tested. So was his tailoring - the front of his jeans was beginning to pull uncomfortably across his crotch.

 

“Well that narrows things down considerably.” Phil's comment dripped in sarcasm. 

 

Clint sighed. “Okay. Here’s the deal. I just want to keep my savings going. Pop always said take care of yourself ‘cause no-one else will do it for ya.”

 

Phil couldn't help but think that sounded just like something the bitter old bastard would teach the boy. And truthfully he couldn’t help but agree.

 

“Okay let's try this - what’s the max you want to pay monthly?”

 

Clint chewed his knuckle a moment in thought before responding. “I really wanna stay as close to a grand or less as possible. 

 

Phil blinked he wasn't sure he heard him right. “How could you possibly have been here for a year and not know anything about the cost of living?”

 

Clint rubbed the back of his neck and wrinkled his nose. “I’ve been crashing with with one of the guys  from the academy. I guess I wanted to wait till I was settled in at S.W.A.T. before I put down roots. Never really left downtown much. Coupla months ago pop told me to stay with him till I found something. Why? Is that too low? I mean, the last time I had to pay rent was when I was at college in New York ten years ago. Man! Am I that off base?” he asked eyes wide with confusion. That look shouldn't have been as adorable as it was. 

 

Phil couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped his lips. “Clint, that would get you a luxury apartment in the suburbs or something nice in The Village downtown. Six to seven hundred gets you something decent downtown or nice in the suburbs. The cheapest place you'll find is a rat hole in Pasadena for four to five. ”

 

“Oh! Okay.” So he  was that off base.

 

Phil was struck with an idea. “Clint, how big are your savings?”

 

Clint took a moment to pull his bank information up on the computer to show Phil. “Well about a hundred grand is for a house; the rest is for retirement.”

 

“Jesus Christ! Did you rob a bank? You've barely been working a decade.”

 

“Well yeah, but the whole time I stayed in cabins or houses the park owned on the property or at the Academy. I didn't have to pay for much. So I saved most of it.”

 

“So just buy a house. A regular down payment will leave most of your savings intact. Or use all that you've allotted for a house and you could buy a small one in full or a very small mortgage on a big nice one.”

 

Clint nearly fell out of his chair. “Are you fucking kidding?”

 

“Yes that's it. I just wanted to get your hopes up, only watch you crumble, and feed off your sorrow.” Phil deadpanned. 

 

Clint blinked then a small smirk kept across his lips. “Are you sure it's my  sorrow  you want to eat?” 

 

Phil took a deep breath and tried not to roll his eyes. He just had to ignore him. Eventually he would lose interest. Just like a dog begging at the dinner table. As usual, Lucky’s timing was impeccable choosing that moment to nuzzle his hand as it rested on his lap. Absently, he rubbed the dog’s ears while he thought for a moment.

 

“If that sounds like the route you want to take, let's look at areas.” Phil suggested in an attempt to redirect the conversation, while pulling up a map of the Houston area. 

 

“Okay, next. What type of neighborhood are you looking for? How long do you want your commute to be and what’s your ideal price point?” 

 

Clint leaned back in his chair still mouthing at his hand. His shirt rode up just enough to show those divine hip dents. If it seemed like an accident, well Phil knew differently. 

 

“With pop here in Conroe he said if I'm on the same side of town as him, he'll plant a tracker on me if he gets bored, and no one but the undertaker will find it. Said I need to be kept an eye on.” Clint snorted. “And I've got my old Harley so I'm not too worried about the commute. And no more than like… a hundred fifty thousand.”

 

“Then you just about have the pick of the litter. My place isn’t much more than that.” 

 

Phil mentally kicked himself. The last thing he needed was Clint a stone's throw away, or worse, a neighbor. The family across the street just listed their house. With his luck Clint would get the mail in his underwear every day just to get to him. And fuck! There was no doubt, that would  definitely get to him! He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

 

“Oh come on! Even only seeing your neighborhood in the dark I could tell it's nothing but uppity rich white folks. What with all the expensive SUVs and anti-Obama bumper stickers. Nah I need room to breath, something with…  character.  And space. I like my privacy. ”

 

“Well that area is mostly suburbs, not too much character there unless you go farther west which takes you out into the country. The nature there is nice but not much else. Or if you like Hispanic culture there is always Pasadena. There you can find authentic taquerias, great thrift stores and the primary language is Spanish in some parts. Though, to be honest, not much in the way of space.”

 

Phil watched Clint's teeth worry at his thumb as the boy was lost in deep thought for a moment. It was as endearing as it was hot.

 

Clint finally turned his attention back to Phil. “I think I had enough of driving an hour to get take out to last a lifetime. But at this point my French is probably better than my Spanish. So...are those really my only options?”

 

Phil filed the fact that Clint spoke French (and possibly some Spanish) away for later. He liked learning new things about him especially those that surprised him; that he owned a Harley for instance was interesting - that he might have some sort of oral fixation judging by the way he kept sucking his knuckle was more of a...distraction.

 

Moving on, Phil gave a little shrug. “You may be making a compromise no matter where you go. For the most character I’d recommend The Village downtown but you won't have any space. The only other location I can think of would be Old League City. As its name suggests it's… historic; dates back to the early eighteen hundreds. But again has no more space than any other suburb. The same could be said of Seabrook and Kemah.”

 

When Clint was still unable to narrow down his choices Phil decided to call his old friend Pepper Potts (preferred real-estate expert and agent) to let her work her magic. 

 

*****

 

The following Thursday the men met Pepper at her office in Clearlake. With Hill back from vacation and no pending contracts needing his constant attention, Phil was able to take off early. And it was a day off anyway for Clint. 

 

Phil entered first with Clint trailing shyly behind him. He smiled at the receptionist and winked holding his forefinger to his lips in a hushing gesture. Grinning, she nodded back allowing him to head into the office area without alerting her boss. Although he hadn’t visited for a while, Phil was a well-known face here and she knew him sneaking in without being announced would be welcomed; he was one of the family.

 

Pepper looked up from her computer. “My God! Phil!” she cried out as she spotted him, a huge smile breaking out over her face. Immediately she stood up and gracefully made her way to the pair. She threw her arms round him in an affectionate if slightly awkward hug. In her Manolos, she pretty much towered over them both. “You ass! It’s been forever,” she admonished him.

 

Phil returned the gesture wrapping his arms round her waist pulling her in for a tight, and lengthy, hug. Clint couldn’t help but notice Phil’s own smile lit up his face making his eyes sparkle giving him sexy crinkles at the corners. Jesus! He wished he could make the older man react like that. He immediately hated Pepper Potts. 

 

Without letting go, she pulled back slightly to give him an appraising gaze waving her hand at his appearance; a button down shirt with the top few buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up once again revealing those attractive forearms; a pair of jeans faded in all the right places, and a pair of worn brown boots. “You look great. More relaxed.”

 

“You know I’m not your client right?” he teased ducking his head and looking up at her. There was a faint blush across his cheeks brought on by her words that was incredibly attractive.

 

Pepper gave him a mock hurt look and reinforced it with a gentle punch to his upper arm. “Phillip J Coulson! What a terrible thing to say! It’s a good job I love you.”  

 

She let go of him and turned to Clint holding out her hand. “Good afternoon, Mr Barton. A pleasure to meet you.”

 

Clint hesitated for a second or two longer than would be considered polite before accepting her hand. Phil narrowed his eyes but kept quiet; he knew Clint was nervous about the meeting however there was something about his pout that suggested it was something other than nerves.

 

If Pepper noticed she made no mention of it. With greetings and introductions done they settled at Pepper's desk across from the impeccably dressed agent. 

 

“Alright, Mr. Barton, Phil says you're looking to buy a house with character and space. Care to elaborate? I have some picked out but it would help to narrow things down if I knew what you had in mind.”

 

Clint’s knuckle went into his mouth again where he worried it for a few moments before answering. Phil knew this time he was thinking and not being rude so he relaxed in his seat. 

 

“I don't really care about the size of the house, but I want a good chunk of land with lots of nature and trees and stuff. I don't want a cookie cutter house but it doesn't have to be weird shit they show on reality TV either. And I want the town to be interesting too. Like cool stuff to see and do. But not touristy stuff, that'll get old quick. And I like my privacy.”

 

Pepper typed away at her keyboard, nodding as he spoke. “I see. That definitely narrows things down but I only have a few close matches. So let's start with those and see how things go shall we?”

 

***

 

The first stop was Friendswood.  It was a beautiful raised, custom-built two-story house in a cul-de-sac. It was unique; surrounded by trees and relatively isolated for the area as well as being within spitting distance from Cowards Creek. Phil was sure Pepper had hit the nail on the head in the first try. Not that that was surprising by any means; she was highly competent at her job. 

 

But Clint complained about too many stairs. And when he was informed the reason it was raised was due to regular flooding well he immediately turned it down. Not to mention his mutterings that it was “too uppity”.

 

They saw two other places - Pearland and Dickinson; both quickly shot down for many of the same reasons. 

 

Their last stop was Seabrook where Pepper showed them a raised beach house style home right on the Bay. While the yard was large with a beautiful view of the water, Clint complained that he couldn't get the mail in his underwear with the highway just across the way. Even though it sounded like it might have been a joke, there was really no telling with that boy. Phil internally sighed in relief that Clearlake had been crossed off first. 

 

“Alright Ms. Potts, what's next?”

 

Pepper sighed and shrugged. “This was it, Mr Barton. You’ve shot down my best matches. If you're not willing to reconsider one it looks like you'll have to make some compromises and perhaps revisit your priorities.”

 

“Oh come on. You've gotta have another up your sleeve. Phil said you're the best.”

 

Pepper quirked her brow at the boy and gave him a knowing smile. She knew when she was being buttered up but then, Phil knew she liked it. She momentarily twisted her face in deep concentration before answering. 

 

“Well…I guess that depends. How open minded are you?” she asked with her head slightly tilted and a mischievous smile playing on her lips. 

 

Clint narrowed his eyes and answered cautiously. “That also depends. Are we talking leather or lace open minded… or whips and chains?”

 

Phil rolled his eyes. Was there no stopping the brat’s mouth? Knowing Pepper could handle herself, he leaned against the car and watched the conversation play out.

 

Pepper put a finger to her lips in a thoughtful gesture, while her impish smile grew. “Oh, I'd say more like…vampires?”

 

Clint's brows shot to his hairline. “Lestat or Edward? ‘Cause I was about ten years too late for the Twilight craze.”

 

“Lestat, definitely,” she said confidently. 

 

“Then, yeah okay, I'm open minded.”

 

“Great but I'm starving. Tookie’s finally reopened. Dinner first then vampires.”

 

“Well it’s about time. I was sure they were done for good after Hurricane Ike. Four years is too long,” Phil complained. 

 

“Uh guys. What's Tookies?”

 

“The best burgers in Houston without doubt. They're just a few blocks away.”

 

***

 

Given the way Clint devoured his Squealer Burger, he seemed to agree with their claim about Tookies. 

 

Phil couldn't help but be hypnotized by the way the sniper moaned with his eyes closed in culinary ecstasy. When a drop of juice escaped the boy’s lips and rolled down his chin, Phil fought to suppress the urge to to clean Clint's face himself -  with his tongue. Then the rest of him. 

 

“Mmm. Whoever thought to put bacon  inside a burger is a genius.” Clint said as he wiped his chin with the back of his hand. 

 

Phil watched far too closely as Clint licked the remnants of the gravy and juice from his lips and decided he couldn't agree more. 

 

Unfortunately the look Pepper gave him not long after made it quite clear he had not been as discreet as he thought. Maybe he could avoid the inevitable awkward conversation to come. He sighed internally and continued with his own burger which had been momentarily forgotten; he knew by the glint in her eyes there was no power on this earth that would stop Pepper trying to get to the bottom of this one.

 

***

 

As they headed to the next location, Phil recognised quickly that they were in Old League City. It was a charming little town with many historical sites and stories. Though as they passed the building were Houston area firefighters are trained he, began to realise why Pepper held back this supposedly perfect house. They turned a corner and…he was right. 

 

“Uh guys? Is this the right way? I don't see any more houses. Just a cemetery and… A cemetery. It's next to a  cemetery ?” Clint asked in disbelief. 

 

“Open minds.” Pepper reminded him cheerfully. “But don't worry, your Sunday afternoon won't be interrupted by funeral services. The newest grave is almost a century old. ”

 

Past the cemetery and a quarter mile of trees, behind an old large brass barred gate, they turned onto a stretch of well-traveled dirt road past more trees before reaching the ranch style house. It was quaint and worn by time, painted light grey with charcoal trim. It even had a little porch with a railing painted to match the exterior. The inside was clean if a bit compact. And yet Clint walked silently through the house with a look of deep concentration on his face, listening carefully to Pepper as she expounded on the features and amenities. 

 

“Definitely needs some work,” was his only comment the entire time inside. Phil prayed to whatever god was listening that it was a good sign. The sooner this was over the sooner he could put some much needed space between himself and the Adonis of a sniper. 

 

“Now if you boys will just follow me we can take a look at the back.” Pepper announced with a beaming smile. 

 

One step outside on to the back porch and Phil immediately understood why. The area directly behind the house was cleared of trees all the way to the little lake created by the estuaries of the bay. But he also saw why many would find this to be a less than desirable location, and it wasn't  just  the cemetery next door. 

 

“Wow this is amazing! Look at that view! Phil look! A floating dock and boat ramp. I could get a boat. I love boats.” 

 

Phil watched as Clint darted around the yard like a child at Christmas. It was just really too adorable he thought. His excitement was so sweet to watch and Phil couldn’t help the smile spreading across his face.

 

“Are you sure I can afford this? Cause I mean…Wow!” 

 

“Oh, absolutely.  Infact I think we can talk the seller down a bit more and you should come in more under budget.”

 

“Wait...so...is living by a graveyard that big of a deal?”

 

Before Pepper could answer Phil decided to interject. “Take a real good look at that hill over there and you tell me,” he said while pointing to a long mound that ran far longer than the length of the house and stood almost as tall. 

 

Clint didn't even squint as he glanced in the opposite direction of the cemetery.  “Train tracks. Are they still in use?”

 

“Well, yes. It's the Highway 3 tracks. And they do run more at night than the day. Which was actually the next thing I was going to tell you,” Pepper said as she shot an accusatory look in Phil's direction. He tilted his head to the side and shrugged giving her a wide-eyed look as he tried to appear innocent. Her glare let him know she hadn’t been fooled…and he was going to pay for it later.

 

Turning his gaze back to the sniper, Phil watched on as Clint sucked in his lower lip as he looked to the house, to the tracks then the water. When the boy heaved out a large sigh and dropped his head, Phil was already beginning to dread another day of horrible temptation. Which is why Clint's next words nearly knocked him over purely out of shock. 

 

“Okay. Where do I sign?”

 

“That's wonderful! I’ll get the…”

 

“Pepper, can you give us a minute?” Phil interrupted. It's not that he didn't trust his friend; he did, unequivocally. But Clint was a completely different animal. He might not have known him for long but he  did know the younger man often acted on impulse letting his emotions rule his decisions and while that wasn't always a bad thing, this was a house and a fair chunk of his life savings. Not something to be taken lightly. 

 

Pepper nodded and moved away from the pair. She knew Phil wasn't putting a stop to things, he’d never take it upon himself to do that, but it was obvious to her there was something between the two men. Maybe Phil felt responsible for him, maybe it was something else, something… deeper. Either way she gave them privacy to talk. 

 

“Phil! This is it! This is the one.” 

 

Cint was buzzing, almost levitating with excitement. Phil stood in front of him trying not to get caught up in his enthusiasm. He certainly didn’t want to dampen it but he felt he had to point out the obvious.

 

“You  do realise you have a higher chance of flood damage here. And even if you can't hear the train at night I'm sure you'll be able to feel the vibrations. Also I heard there are plans to build a park in the vacant lot across the street. How on earth is this any better than the others?” Phil huffed out in exasperation.

 

“I can sleep anywhere and fall asleep real easy. I'm not really worried about the train. Two of the others had a lot of stairs, and I don't want to put Lucky through that. The ones without stairs weren't on the water. There's lots of space for him too. And as long as I don't find him starting a bone collection I don't care about an old cemetery. So this is just… perfect.” Clint explained as he stared out on to the water darkened by the night. 

 

Looking at Clint, at the sudden peace that had fallen over him, Phil couldn’t find it in him to argue. He wanted to touch his hand to Clint’s face, to press his forehead against the boy’s and tell him he was right, it  was perfect and he had to fight against every instinct he had not to do it. Instead he sighed gently and nodded.

 

“See, Phil. It's “just perfect” he says.” Pepper proclaimed smugly joining the two of them again. “If we head back to my office now I can get the paperwork drawn up and I can put our bid in first thing in the morning.”

 

As they headed back to Pepper’s car, her cell phone rang. She looked at them apologetically. With a smirk, Phil raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? You don’t have to ask, Pepper.”

 

She rolled her eyes at him and walked off in the opposite direction to take the call.

 

When Clint and Phil reached her car, the older man could no longer keep his curiosity at bay. Leaning against the door he asked, “Why is it that Lucky is such a concern in buying a house? Who are you actually buying this house for, you or Lucky?

 

Clint sighed heavily. “It's the least I can do,” was all he said before a long stretch of silence. Phil waited patiently understanding the sniper would get to it in his own time.

 

“Ya see, when I first came to Montana as a Park Ranger one of the first things I did was organise and retrain a search and rescue team; theirs was kinda pitiful. That included the dogs. Lucky was first and the best. He was a  boss at finding lost hikers, especially kids. Every time they sent me to another Montana Park to instruct a team, he came to help train the dogs. 

 

One day when I was making my rounds with Lucky to get him get some exercise, we stopped at a small creek to clean up a bit. This little grizzly bear cub came darting out to play the stream. I tried to get to my rifle and the ATV to get us out of there. But I was wasn't as fast as the momma bear who came charging at me. It didn't matter to her that I was over fifty feet from her cub. All she cared about was that I was between them and that I needed to be gotten rid of.  

 

As soon as she broke through the tree line Lucky went from just barking to meeting her attack. I guess it's a dog instinct thing because for the first time in his life he didn't stay when I told him. Unfortunately a seventy pound dog is no match for a seven hundred pound grizzly. I'm pretty sure the only thing that saved his life was going for her back, instead of a head on assault. He did at least give me enough time to get the rifle and bring the beast down. 

 

He lost an eye had several broken bones and some internal damage. The park wanted to put him down, they said there was no guarantee he would pull through. But … he probably saved my life. So I told the doc to do whatever he could to save him and paid the vet bill myself. I kept him while he healed. 

 

After all that the park declared him retired and gave him to me. We've been a team ever since. He still limps sometimes and has a special diet and still has meds. But he's happy…so I'm happy.”

 

Phil was speechless. This was a side of Clint he never expected. He had very quickly classified him as brat, a highly skilled and incredibly attractive brat with the abs and arms of a Greek god, but, at the end of the day, still a brat. But beneath all that, was a kind man with a large heart. That, Phil thought, was even sexier than the young man's perfect body. And that really didn't bode well for him. 

 

Another silence stretched on for a time before Phil came up with something that might help remove the foot from his mouth. “Lucky will love the lake.”

 

It seemed to have the desired effect because out of the corner of his eye he saw Clint turn to him and give him a beaming smile that he swore lit up starless night. 

 

***

 

After looking over the paperwork and approving the bid, Clint was still wired. He wanted to go for a drink; he wanted to go for some food; he wanted to go back to the house... his house; he wanted Phil to fuck him senseless. He wanted it all. 

 

Eyes shining he turned to said sex-machine. “Let’s go for a...”

 

Phil wasn’t beside him as he had thought. He looked back to the realtors and spotted him through the window. With Pepper. Hugging. Again. Fuck! Get a fucking room already. Clint’s good humour was beginning to evaporate. If he wasn’t dependent on Phil for a ride he’d have pissed off and left him. Speak of the devil.

 

“So, what do you want to do now?” Phil asked with a grin.

 

Clint shrugged and looked away from him. “Go back to Pop’s I guess.”

 

Phil frowned. He sounded so deflated. He’d been so excited when they’d left the property. Phil had been sure Clint would have wanted to go for a drink to celebrate at least, maybe grab a bite to eat. He had a surprise for him too.

 

“You sure? Only…” He held up his hand and jingled a set of keys at him. 

 

Clint’s face brightened a little. “Is that?”

 

Phil nodded. He tilted his head to the side and raised an eyebrow. “Wanna go back for another look?”  

 

With a quick grin, Clint snatched the keys from his fingers and jogged to the car to stand impatiently as Phil strolled towards him.

 

“ C’mon , Phil,” he whined.

 

“Brat.”

 

Clint was strangely quiet on the journey alternating between looking out the side window or staring dead ahead. He’d also reverted to worrying the knuckle of his thumb which Phil was beginning to recognise as a nervous gesture or something he did when he was deep in thought. He left the sniper alone and didn’t try to make conversation. If he wanted to talk, he would.

 

Phil pulled into a gas station on the way. “You hungry?” he asked. Clint shrugged noncommittally. The other man merely nodded and headed inside. He returned a few minutes later with a grocery bag and put it on the back seat. 

 

As they reached the turnoff to the property, Clint sat upright in his seat and as they neared the house he began to fidget restlessly his feet bouncing in the footwell.  That was more like it.

 

Almost before the SUV had come to a stop, Clint was out of the car dashing towards the house dropping the keys onto the porch in his eagerness to open the door. Phil smiled, his chest tightening at the younger man’s excitement. He reached into the back of the truck and brought out the grocery bag before joining Clint inside. Well perhaps  joining him was being optimistic. He could hear footsteps banging around in a different part of the house already as Clint ran about exploring. 

 

He headed to the kitchen which was just off the living area and unpacked the groceries onto the counter. There was a six pack of beer, a few bags of chips, and some Little Debbie Donuts both chocolate and powdered - Phil could never make up his mind. Not much of a celebratory meal but it seemed right. Pepper had mentioned there was an excellent Chinese takeout nearby but perhaps they could do that the next time.

 

He brought out his trusty penknife and used the bottle opener to pop the caps off the beer. Just as he finished Clint appeared like a whirlwind. 

 

“Aw Phil...it’s even better than I remembered.”

 

Phil laughed and handed him a beer. “Clint, we were only here an hour or so ago!”

 

Clint grinned at him and took a few gulps from the bottle. Phil quickly looked away in case he became too caught up in the movement of the sniper’s throat as he swallowed. It was mesmerising.

 

“C’mon. Come with me.”

 

In his excitement, Clint grabbed Phil’s hand and dragged him through the house. Phil tried not to think anything of it but he felt warmth spreading through his chest at Clint’s hand in his. It felt… right.  As did Clint’s childlike enthusiasm. His words almost fell over each other as he chatted animatedly about the house and every room it had.

 

“It’s HUGE, Phil. Three bedrooms! And two baths! I’ve never stayed anywhere like this. Well apart from pop’s but it’s nothing like this. And I guess the cabins in Montana were pretty big but I shared those. But this is mine.  Would be mine. I mean I know it needs work but that’s okay, isn’t it? Yeah, that’s okay. It’s beautiful. I love it. Don’t you think it’s beautiful? Even with all the work?”

 

Clint finally paused for a long enough breath that allowed Phil get a word in. His face was flushed and his breathing was rapid. It reminded the older man of other times when he’d seen the sniper like this but he pushed those thoughts quickly out of his head. 

 

Instead, with a soft voice he said, “It’s great, Clint. Even with the work it needs. It’s not too much though. You know your pop and I can give you a hand...if you want us to?”

 

Clint looked at Phil with surprise. “You’d do that?”

 

Phil smiled at him. “Of course. Talk to me, Clint. Tell me about what you want to do with the place.”

 

Almost an hour (and loads of ideas) later, they were back in the kitchen. Clint’s eyes were still shining but the rest of him had calmed down. Reluctantly Phil looked at his watch. It was almost seven.

 

*****

 

“You ready to go?”

 

Clint pulled a sad face making Phil laugh. “I know. If you could stay here tonight you would. I’m sorry, Clint. I need to get back to Pepper.”

 

The younger man narrowed his eyes and stared at Phil. “Oh. Sure. I understand. Pepper.” He said it with such a sneering tone, Phil was momentarily taken aback. However, he was even more so when Clint continued.

 

“For the record, I don’t like her.” He stood with his arms folded over his chest challenging Phil to disagree with him.

 

Phil’s mouth dropped open slightly but he recovered enough to say sharply, “For the record she put her realtor licence at risk giving me these keys tonight.”

 

Clint shrugged. “I didn’t ask her to. That’s all on you.”

 

Phil had no idea where this had come from. He’d been so... happy just a few minutes ago and now. He was like a different person. Someone he hardly recognised.  “Are you serious right now?”

 

“Are  you ? Ah fuck! Just go, Phil. I’m just your dirty little secret. Your little fuck toy until you can get back to Pepper. That’s who you really want to be with, isn’t it?”

 

Phil’s raised his eyebrows in shock. What the fuck? Enough was enough. He pushed Clint’s chest hard enough to force him back against the wall. He pulled the sleeve of his shirt on the left arm a bit higher baring the skin even more and held it in front of Clint’s face. There was a long scar that ran up the sensitive skin on the inside of his arm. He also noticed a second scar on the palm of his hand. Both were old having long since faded to white.

 

“Since you seem to be under some wild misconception about me and Pepper let me set the record straight. But I want you to bear these in mind while I talk.”

 

Clint pushed against him but Phil refused to budge. “Jesus, Phil. I don’t need to hear about whatever sick little games you two play.”

 

The older man looked at him with a mix of disgust and pity. His blue eyes had turned icy but his voice became very calm. “Yeah, Clint. Whatever happens next, you do.”

 

Clint felt his stomach drop suddenly realising he’d fucked up. Big time.

 

Backing up to give Clint some breathing room, Phil started to speak. It was clinical and detached as though he was giving a debriefing after a mission but it gave the gist of why Phil and Pepper were so close.

 

Virginia “Pepper” Potts had contacted S.H.I.E.L.D. on the recommendation of someone from the HPD. She was the owner of a small realtors which, coincidentally, had been started the same year as Marcus set up his firm. But back then she only had one office with a couple of employees unlike the large chain she had now. She was also the victim of a stalker. 

 

She didn’t know by whom but Pepper knew she was being regularly followed. To her work, to her home, when she was shopping, out with friends. Then the threatening mail started arriving at the office. Then her home. She went to the HPD but her stalker was too careful. No-one else had seen them. No-one else had the feeling of being followed. Whomever it was, they had fixated on Pepper.

 

The HPD did what they could of course but the investigation eventually dried up and although the case would remain open, they couldn’t afford to spend any more time on it unless new evidence came to light. They were sorry but…

 

It really wasn’t the type of work S.H.I.E.L.D. did but Clint’s old man had taken a liking to the calm but clearly troubled Ms Potts, said yeah and passed the case to his ‘right hand man and one good eye’. 

 

Phil reviewed everything the PD had done or suggested, ran a risk assessment on her home and office, had her security upgraded at both places, gave her safety measures to follow, developed a safety plan with her, taught her how to use a handgun, took her to buy her first (a Beretta Px4 Storm Subcompact which she still had), took her to dinner and made her laugh again. In short, he was her world for two months. But even at reduced rates, she couldn’t afford to pay S.H.I.E.L.D. to protect her forever. So, feeling more confident that she had for a long time, she terminated their contract with grateful thanks and a positive smile. 

 

Phil frowned and dropped his head for a moment obviously thinking about that particular event. He crossed his arms over his chest and with his head still bowed he continued before realising how rude that was to Clint. He raised his head again to look the sniper in the eye as he spoke. 

 

Unofficially, he kept an eye on her office and home as often as his work would allow. Both he and Pepper had cause to be grateful for the gesture he’d considered to be small for although things seemed to have settled down, in reality they had escalated...tragically so. The stalker had merely been biding his time and one evening, when everyone had left with Pepper locking up, he made his move.

 

Phil paused for a moment. “I’m not going to go into details of what happened that night. You don’t need to know. We both survived. Since then Pepper and I have been close friends. We still going for dinner, she’s still trying to set me up on dates, she found my place for me, I still take calls from her at two in the morning when she wakes up with nightmares. And that’s never going to change. There are others like Pepper in my life, Clint. And if you can’t understand or accept that...well,  that’s all on  you .”

 

Wordlessly he held out his hand for the keys. Clint’s face was a picture of misery but Phil stood firm. He was angry and hurt at Clint’s attitude toward Pepper who’d shown him nothing but kindness. And towards him. To Phil he was anything  but a little “fuck toy” and he was only a secret because of Marcus. If he’d been anyone else’s son… Fuck! What a mess.

 

Clint tried to speak but Phil shook his head. The wounded and betrayed expression on the older man’s face was enough to snap his jaws shut. Silently he dropped the keys into Phil’s palm. 

 

“Go check the lights,” Phil instructed as he packed the grocery bag again. His voice was quiet but it still had a cold edge to it. “I’ll see you on the porch.”

 

A few minutes later Phil locked up. Clint touched Phil’s arm pulling it back as though he’d been burned when the older man flinched. He’d been toying with staying behind but that made his mind up.

 

“If it’s okay with you, I’d like to stay here a bit longer.”

 

Phil nodded. He was relieved in a way. The drive back to Pepper’s right now would have been pretty awful. He headed to the SUV with Clint watching from the porch. He reached into the back seat and brought out his leather jacket. Instead of putting it on however he took it to Clint and held it out to him along with the grocery bag.

 

“It’s getting cold. You’ll need it soon.”

 

Clint opened his mouth to protest but he knew Phil was right. And as usual, he’d not thought to bring a jacket with him. He was too used to the harsh winters in Montana; the Texas winter had been child’s play in comparison so far. And the chips would be welcome later too no doubt. He took them both and quietly thanked him, surprised at the gesture when he’d been such a dick.

 

As he walked away, Phil paused and looked over his shoulder at the sniper. “For what it’s worth, Tony Stark, our electronics and engineering genius was the one who upgraded her security. He and Pepper have been together on and off ever since. As much as he pisses her off sometimes, that’s another thing that’s never going to change. She might love me, but she’s  in love with him.”

 

*** 

 

Clint sat on the floating dock staring at the moon and stars. So far it was one of his favorite parts of his new home, or what would be soon enough. He had been so worried he had left that behind in Montana. He pulled Phil's jacket tightly around him, letting the man's scent envelope him. It was bizarre to start the day in shorts and end it wrapped in leather, at the beginning of February no less. Between the silence of the night and soft rocking of the dock beneath him he had to fight to not let it lull him to sleep. But maybe one night he would. Infact he already had his eyes closed when when a familiar smooth voice brought him out of his musings. 

 

“There you are.”  

 

Clint opened his eyes to see Phil standing at the edge of the grass looking down him. He had honestly thought he would have left. Well he had, nearly an hour ago, but Clint didn't expect him to return. Clint had acted like a spoiled child that refused to share his toy. A toy that wasn't even his. A toy that the other ‘kid’ didn't even want. Not like he did. And the look Phil gave him, he never wanted to see that look again. 

 

“I’m so sorry!” The words burst from his mouth before he could even consciously consider saying them. 

 

Of all the reactions he was expecting, Phil climbing on to the dock to sit beside him was not one of them. Maybe he would get a lecture from the older man. Only he didn't. Instead Phil wordlessly held out a beer to him. Clint let out an audible sigh as he took the bottle and opened it against the side of the dock. Clint knew in that moment that all was forgiven never to be spoken of again. He knew because his pop spoke the same language. Hell his pop was the one who taught  him, for which he was eternally grateful, Clint never did the whole feelings thing well.  

 

Time stretched on as they drank their beers in silence. It wasn't awkward or uncomfortable or because they lacked things to discuss. No, they both were just happy enjoying the serene, natural beauty around them. Once Clint had finished off the brew he tossed it on the grass to be taken care of later before laying back on the dock to better enjoy the gentle motion. It took some time but Phil did eventually follow suit. It seem the gentle call of the waves was to strong for even him to resist. 

 

Phil may have forgiven him, but he hadn’t forgiven himself. It wasn't like this was even the first he fucked up like this. He wasn't sure what made him want to talk to Phil. 

 

“I have that too ya know. Someone like Pepper. I used to anyway. I mean I might still …” Clint broke off uncertain how to continue. Phil didn’t say anything, just waited patiently, staring up at the night sky listening to a couple of waterfowl call to each other across the water. Clint would speak again when he was ready...if he wanted to.

 

The sniper sighed. “He’s back in Montana. Well, he was. Probably still is, I guess. We’d kinda gone full circle. I mean…it’s not quite like you and Pepper. I mean, we’re close, we stayed close...” Clint sighed again. He was fucking this up.

 

“You were lovers and now you’re friends? And he’s your 2am phone call guy.” Phil’s voice was steady and calm, not annoyed or irritated. He wasn’t pushing for information, just trying to help Clint put his thoughts into words.

 

Clint smiled. “Yeah. My 2am guy.” He paused for a moment thinking about Steve then he added. “He was good to me y’know. He took care of me, looked after me.”

 

Phil turned his head to look at Clint and asked softly, “Is that what you want? Someone to take care of you?”

 

Clint stayed quiet for a moment and then in a small voice that made Phil’s chest tighten, he whispered “Maybe.”

 

Phil didn’t respond but like everything else he filed it away to think about later.

 

They lapsed into silence and yet again that was how they stayed for some time. That is until someone's fingers started twitching rubbing against the other's. To this day Clint couldn't say who started it. Just that it ended with their middle and forefingers lightly intertwined. 

 

It wasn't long before Clint just couldn't take it anymore. The feel of Phil's toned arm pressed tightly against his, of Phil's rough jeans against his calves left bare by his shorts. Holding Phil's hand - they weren't quite but it was close enough - the rub of his gun callouses against his own was the final straw. 

 

Clint quickly and smoothly rolled on top of Phil, straddling him, careful not to rock the dock too much. He dropped onto his elbows on either side of Phil's head so they were almost nose to nose. 

 

“Look, I'm going to kiss you now, possibly till we suffocate. So if you don't want this, now is the time to say so,” Clint warned as he looked Phil dead in the eye. He could already feel their cocks slowly thicken and press against each other. He waited for an answer anyway. 

 

“We can't do this Clint. It isn't right.” But Phil's response lacked conviction. His body betrayed him further as his hips gave an involuntary thrust upwards indicating he didn't really believe what he was saying any more than Clint did. 

 

The sniper let a wicked smile cross his lips before reminding the older man, “Maybe, but the one thing you haven't said yet is that you don't  want  this.” They both knew he was right. 

 

Signalling every move, Clint lowered his lips to Phil's. The electricity that ran down his spine was an immediate reaction and one he'd never felt this strongly before. He was met with a slight resistance, albeit very briefly, before Phil parted his lips allowing the younger man’s tongue to slip inside.  He always loved how Phil tasted, usually beer and coffee with a hint of… Phil. He had his own subtle distinct flavor, as well as scent. There wasn't anything about that man that didn't immediately catch his dick’s attention. 

 

While at the start of the kiss Phil had merely been cooperative, he quickly did what he did (and Clint liked) best; he took control. His strong hands came to grab Clint's ass. Breathless moans filled the air as he kneaded the muscles pulling Clint closer grinding his hips upwards brushing their cocks together. With an expertise that no doubt came from years of experience and training, Phil flipped them with barely a wave to show for it. Clint didn't know what it was, but there was just something about the older man’s quiet competence that pushed all his buttons. 

 

He reached up and cupped the back of Phil’s neck deepening the kiss thrusting his tongue into Phil’s mouth. He felt so good on top of him, his weight bearing down - not crushing just...there, comfortable. He loved the little breathy sounds that were escaping from them both as the kiss continued. But he wanted more, he wanted to kiss Phil’s throat, his chest, his stomach, his cock and the thought of it was making him ache. And what the  fuck was that on his leg? Phil’s arms and legs were accounted for.  His arms and legs were accounted for. So seriously! What the  FUCK was that on his leg? 

 

He yelled and threw Phil off and onto the dock. Or so he thought. The funny thing about floating docks however is that they’re not infinite in their structure and if you keep rolling/flipping in one direction (as Clint and Phil had been doing) the laws of physics - in particular, gravity - will take over. 

 

It certainly wasn’t how either of them expected the kiss to end but it was a surprisingly elegant splash Phil made as he tumbled into the icy water. And when he surfaced gasping for breath from the cold and quite honestly, the shock, the first thing he saw was Clint’s horrified but amused face looking down at him. In his hands was a soaking wet armadillo with all four legs still moving in a paddling motion. 

 

Phil climbed out with absolutely no help from Clint currently doubled over in a fit of the giggles still clutching the leathery little mammal who was now sniffing his hand in a diligent search for food (Clint would later tell him he thought the little guy had been fed by humans). And as he stood there dripping onto the deck, Phil swore this time the call from the waterfowl that echoed across the lake sounded suspiciously like laughter.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read review and enjoy (kudos are good to) thanks to all who already have.


	3. Smokin' Hot N' Saucy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Food sex... Very filthy food sex, Texas style ya'll!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear! What have we done!? Ok guys be mindful of tags and rating this is... Woo... FILTHY!
> 
> OK there are mentions of hunting and rating said game. If you don't know Venison is deer and super yummy. It is not Bambi! Hunters usually go for the Bucks, like Bambi's dad, who was a total dead beat. So it's ok to eat him. ^_^

It was the end of February and the annual Houston rodeo was in full swing. It was a lovely seventy five degrees and the sun was shining. Phil checked the temperature on the smoker, then removed the sausage and briskets deciding they were done to perfection.  He covered the tenderly cooked food they would be serving that a day with a hand towel, to allow them a chance to rest before slicing. 

 

The rest he wrapped in heavy duty aluminum foil for transport. It was a lot of meat (almost two hundred pounds) but it was for a lot of people and it was a very large smoker. Some of it went to family and friends. Most of it would be donated to local fire houses. It was for this reason Tony Stark, S.H.I.E.L.D’s in-house engineer, built him a custom Smoker big enough to handle the task. In return Stark got half a brisket each use, and Phil smoked turkeys for him at thanksgiving. 

 

It had started about five years ago. Phil had found briskets heavily discounted and decided to stock up and freeze them. When the chest freezer malfunctioned and everything thawed they had no choice but to smoke them to save them going to waste. They took some to their respective jobs, and the few left Jasper suggested taking to volunteer firehouses in the area. It just snowballed from there. When the Manager of an H.E.B found out what they were doing he agreed to match pound for pound. Phil always knew there was a reason he only bought H.E.B brand products.

 

Jasper and he had been in the parking lot of the Stadium since oh four hundred hours that morning. They had competed in the barbecue cook off every year for the last four years. The Houston Rodeo barbecue cook off was one of the largest in the state. It drew people in from all over the country, and was the kick off for rodeo season. 

 

The Pit-Bulls (their team name) hadn't placed yet, but Phil knew it was just a matter of time. He had a feeling his new sauce might do the trick. They had started over six years ago. Although Jasper had been doing it longer it’s the reason they became such good friends. They had met through work and Jasper - saying he needed to kick back, and relax before he had an aneurysm - invited him to a backyard Memorial Day barbecue. Instead of mingling (and meeting men like Jasper intended) he stood over the slightly younger man's shoulder peppering him with question. A month later Jasper began to teach him everything he knew about the subject, and they continued to learn more together. It turned out Phil had a real knack for flavor. And the patience Jasper didn't have. But Jasper was the technical knowledge. The rest was history. 

 

It had become one of Phil's few hobbies to clear his mind of work, and that he would actually prioritize when he was at all able. He had only missed one rodeo after all, one July fourth, and no Memorial Days to date. Most years they managed to travel the circuit more than was necessary to qualify for the rodeo. 

 

Marcus was incredibly proud of them, and incredibly opportunistic. He rarely missed a chance to eat the products of their labor. Infact, seeing as his friend was back from his mysterious visit somewhere, he was expecting him anytime now. What he wasn't expecting was the bomb that would be dropped on him.

 

“What the hell are you doing here?”

 

Phil looked from the sauce he was stirring to see what, or more accurately who, had Jasper so riled up. Oh fuck! It seemed the barbecue gods hated him today. A few tents down, headed right their way was Marcus, whom he expected. But Clint was in tow, Lucky right behind him, with a smile that surely meant no good would come of this.

 

The muscles of Phil's shoulders and arms tightened with anticipation. He hadn't seen Clint in weeks, not since their night at the house on the lake. He could still feel the boy’s lightly haired legs, the tight corded muscle in his arms, and hear the small erotic sounds he made as they kissed. It had been the most intimate encounter he’d had in awhile and far too tempting for comfort. 

 

Once he had recovered from his spontaneous dip in the lake he was actually grateful for their little visitor (Clint had named him Arnold the Armadillo). He had come too close to giving the boy what he wanted, especially after his confession as they lay on the floating deck. After that he had been sure to make himself scarce, with any excuse possible. He even took his first real vacation in quite awhile and made his rounds at the casinos in New Orleans (his wallet had still not forgiven him.) He had to try to get his head straight where Clint was concerned. He was far too close to cracking and giving in to the boy’s pleas and his own desires. 

 

“Hey there, Chief. Didn't  expect to see you here,” Clint said as they approached the table where Jasper was slicing the sausage. Lucky sat obediently at Clint's side. 

 

“That doesn't answer my question, Barton.”

 

“Awww, come on, Sitwell. Don't let this little shit get your panties in a bunch. That stick up your ass is probably uncomfortable enough as it is,” Marcus told the Chief with a wicked smirk that looked remarkably like Clint's.

 

Phil watched in amusement as all the blood drained from the Chief of Police’s face.

 

“Little shit?  The little shit?  This is your son?!”

 

“And who the hell else do you think could turn out one of the greatest marksmen the military has never seen?” Marcus asked, feigning offence. Marcus then turned toward Phil, Jasper completely forgotten. “Hey, Cheese, when’s lunch?”

 

Phil sighed internally, it was really no surprise those would be the first words Marcus said to him. “Well, since you're here I'd say right about now.” They always made more than enough at competition to share with their friends who stopped by, namely Marcus.  

 

Phil set out styrofoam plates and filled each one with homemade baked beans (MiMaw Coulson’s recipe), potato salad and smoked sausage topped in his original recipe barbecue sauce and pickles and onion on buns they picked up from Fudruckers. He handed one to each man, including the incubus Marcus called his son, and kept one for himself. 

 

As they ate he noticed some distinct differences about Lucky. For one he was in a thick brown leather harness that phil had never seen before. Another peculiar thing was how out of character the Golden Retriever seemed. Instead of flopping on the ground beside the folding chair where Clint sat, Lucky sat upright and alert, only moving occasionally to paw at Clint's leg. Once Clint would pat him on the head and tell him he’s a good boy, Lucky would resume watch. But most unusually he didn't seem fazed by all the food, not even so much as his trademark puppy dog eyes. 

 

“Barton, why the hell do you have your dog here. No pets allowed. No exceptions.”  Jasper groused from where he was loading wrapped briskets into the cooler.

 

Clint patted Lucky’s head after his leg was tapped once more, before responding. “He's not pet, he’s a service dog, I showed his papers at the gate and everything.”

 

Jasper's face turned so red it rivaled the cherry pie they brought for dessert. “I hired you for S.W.A.T and you need a service dog?”

 

Clint scoffed. “I don't  need him. It’s his…hobby.”

 

Phil was truly intrigued at this point, it seemed as though this boy just didn't know the meaning of words like average and normal. Phil couldn't help but appreciate that. Before anyone had a chance to ask Clint what he meant, he continued.

 

“After his tussle with the Grizzly bear and he was put out of commission as rescue dog, he just wasn't himself. A while after he was healed he stopped eating and playing and slept all the time. So I took him to the vet. Did you know dogs could get depressed? I didn't. Turned out though that was what the doc said was wrong with him. So I trained him as a hearing service dog. I can get by just fine without him, but he is handy to have around if my ears are out at home or a place like this. I can get by in crowds but that live music can complicate things. It's not so bad under here though. Besides I thought it would be good for him.”

 

“Listen up, Jasper Sit-all-day, you can take a soldier out of the war, but that doesn't turn off his instincts.” Fury added with his one eyed glare.

 

Jasper gave Clint a skeptical look. “So now you're a dog trainer too, Barton?”

 

Clint rolled his eyes, his issues with authority quite clear. “I learned a lot when I helped Tammy train our search and rescue dogs. It was her suggestion I train him for service, so she gave me some pointers. He alerts me to trigger words by tapping my leg with his paw. Mostly important words like my name and other I really want to know are said like...pizza. But he most important for danger words and sounds, like fire alarm, or stop. Then he does whatever he can to alert me to whichever word it is. If he hears a fire alarm he knows to drag me out of the house, if it's stop he won't let me move till I give him the go ahead. He also alerts me to a knock at the door, oven timer, alarm clock, and other household sounds.”

 

Phil couldn't help but think that Clint was a very special man. After spending so much effort into saving Lucky’s life, then nursing him to health he still spent the time to train the dog just to give him purpose. When he heard things like this it made him think long and hard about his decision to give Clint up because of his friendship with his old man. 

 

Fury decided that was the best moment to break in. “This is actually the perfect segue into a favor I need from you, Phil.”

 

The thing about his oldest friend asking favors, was he wasn't really asking.

 

“I'm having some renovations done for the next couple days, had it scheduled for a while now. But this little shit already has his own renovations going in his new place so he can't move in for a couple weeks. Not to mention all of HPD seems to be allergic to dogs. You'll take them for a couple nights won't you?”

 

Phil resisted the urge to sigh. There was no way he could say no. But he knew it would be hell resisting the young man, what with all the antics he’d been up to lately.

 

“Of course, not a problem at all.”  Phil knew he would pay for that, one way or another.

 

After lunch Clint grabbed his bag from Fury’s SUV, left it with him at the tent, and took off to explore the kick off of the rodeo. 

 

Every so often, Clint would appear back to mess with Phil. Now that he knew they were going to be staying together for a few days leaving Phil nowhere to escape to (unless, of course, duty called), he just couldn’t help himself. It was all done under the guise of needing more food but he made sure his fingers would gently brush against Phil’s when he handed Clint a plate. 

 

The older man never reacted, never said anything, but Clint knew it was getting to him by the faint blush across his cheeks. Apparently Phil had a tell when he was happy and this was it. He remembered it from the time at Pepper’s office when she’d complimented him. The other thing the sniper noticed was that Phil ducked his head a lot more to look up at Clint. And what a fucking turn on that was especially if he had that little half-smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

 

Once, he’d even made it behind the table where Phil and Jasper stood to hold his body against Phil’s in pretence at reaching something which he could easily have done from the side he was supposed to be on, but the Police Chief chased him off in language that made it clear what would happen if he appeared on their side again. It had been worth it though. The blush had spread to the tips of Phil’s ears and muscle in his jaw was clenched.

 

Nearing the end of the day Clint turned up the heat for his last attempt at subtle (and sometimes not so subtle) seduction by returning with the buttons of his shirt undone to the middle of his chest wearing a black cowboy hat he’d spotted he really wished he had his eye liner with him. The way that Phil had looked at Clint with hooded eyes and hunger and lust in his expression, told him he’d hit the jackpot. His cock throbbed at the way Phil’s gaze had roamed slowly over his body lingering at the open neck of his shirt and again on his mouth and finally stopping at his eyes before he turned away. One way or another he was going to be fucked when they got back to Phil’s.

 

*****

 

The car ride over had been quiet but in a good way. Neither of them had mentioned Clint’s actions at the rodeo but it was obviously on both their minds. Once in Phil's house, he directed Clint to the spare room to drop off his bag with Lucky close on his heels. Meanwhile, in an attempt to get his feelings (and his cock) under control, Phil brought in his supplies from the SUV, along with their second place ribbon for brisket, but decided to leave the trailer with the smoker hitched for the time being. 

 

After putting Lucky in the backyard, Clint sat in a backwards chair at the kitchen table and watched him far too intently as he washed and put away the last of the supplies. The whole time he could feel Clint’s eye boring into his back. He decided to see if light conversation would alleviate some of the awkwardness he was sure only he felt.

 

“So what did you think about your first real rodeo and barbecue experience?”

 

“Well I have been to rodeos in Montana, but it was nothing like that. That was...huge...it was awesome! I would say I had barbecue there too, but Pop gave me the lecture on the way there. How grilling a steak or putting sauce on something doesn't make it barbecue. Ya gotta smoke it low and slow all day long. And if your tongue doesn't have an orgasm that makes your dick jealous, you ain't doing it right. Not his exact words, but that’s how I understood it. Although I kind of expected more than smoked sausage. Don’t get me wrong, it was great! Venison right? Tasted a lot like the sausage I had in Montana a few times, possibly better.”

 

A tingle ran down Phil's spine. Only Clint could talk about barbecue and make it sound salacious. And he was sure that was intentional

 

“It should be, and you're right it is venison. Every year Jasper takes his boys, nephews, a couple nieces even, hunting. They process it themselves and make home sausage and freeze it, till we can smoke it in batches through the year. Everyone that went on the hunt gets a share. But it's my smoker, so that earns me my cut, whether I go or not. And you could have had brisket earlier if you hadn't wandered off so ofte. But let's see if we can remedy that now.” 

 

Phil walked to the end of the counter where he left the brisket he brought home, and unwrapped the foil; it was still warm. He took the lid off the container of sauce which had only just cooled to room temperature. Perfect. After slicing a bit he picked up a piece with freshly washed fingers (he didn't see the need for a fork and plate just to offer Clint a taste) watching as it easily fell off the original slice, evidence it was cooked perfectly. He dipped it in the sauce, just enough for it to enhance the smokiness of the meat, but not disguise it. He walked the piece over to Clint, with his other hand underneath to protect his floors, and held it out to him. 

 

Clint reached out, but instead of taking the meat with his own finger as expected, he grasped Phil’s wrist and guided it towards his mouth. When his beautiful lips closed around Phil's fingers, the older man’s blood immediately began to boil, and his cock twitched in his pants. He could feel Clint's tongue pull the meat inside his mouth, but instead of pulling away at that moment, he began to suck the fatty juices that coated Phil's fingers, releasing a filthy groan that rivaled the ones from the first night. 

 

As the moments wore on, Phil’s body’s reaction only increased. He could feel the wet muscle glide across his fingers and caress them in a most intimate way. That in combination with the intense suction could quickly push him over the edge to do some thing Marcus would surely make him regret. He knew he had to pull away. But it was already too late, he couldn't. 

 

Once Clint felt satisfied he would not leave a drop of flavor behind, he pulled away, chewed and swallowed, releasing little moans as he did so. Phil was sure, of all the kinky dirty things he had seen and done in his life (and there were plenty) that moment was the most sensual and most erotic scene he had ever witnessed. He knew in that moment he was totally and utterly screwed, but no matter how hard he tried, and he did try, he couldn't find in himself to care.

 

So when Clint looked up at him through his lashes and said in a breathless voice, “Okay, now my dick is jealous. How about another bite?” all thought and higher brain function completely ceased, and his body acted on primal instinct and need. 

 

He hauled Clint up by his shirt collar and crashed their lips together in what really couldn't even be called a kiss. It was dueling tongues that dripped saliva and tasted of smoky meat and sauce, with bitten and bruised lips. Phil tightly wrapped his arms around Clint offering no chance for escape. One hand firmly cradled the younger man's head, holding it in place, the other crushed their bodies together. He could feel Clint's hard cock pressed firmly against his own, and it felt  incredible .

 

Phil had an idea, an incredibly filthy idea - with no clue what spawned it -  that would certainly condemn his soul for eternity. Not that it made the idea any less appealing and arousing. In fact he was so hard he was sure Clint could take him to work and use his dick as a battering ram.

 

“With all the hell you've been causing me you had better have a condom in your wallet,” Phil whispered hotly into Clint's ear, before giving the lobe a firm, but not too painful bite. 

 

All Clint could do was nod dumbly. He was most certainly not unaffected by this either.  Phil grabbed Clint's jaw and turned his head to look him in the eye. It was then that Phil realised just how gone he was, his pupils were blown so wide the mysteriously colored irises were almost gone.

 

“Perfect. Now listen, be a good boy and take this into the living room and get yourself nice and ready for me. Nice and wet and loose so I can make your hole nice and sloppy.” Phil drawled in a voice so husky, he barely recognized it as his own, as he handed Clint an almost empty squeeze bottle of olive oil 

 

Clint's only response was to nod eagerly and whimper before quickly running off to follow his orders.

 

Phil hurried back to the counter where the brisket lay forgotten. He pulled out a plate then hastily sliced and chopped a large portion (though it was so moist and tender it came out more shredded than anything) of the beef while listening to the beautiful music of Clint gasps and labored breathing that had already begun. He plated it and messily added a quick splash of sauce. He rushed to the living room with plate in hand, but not before swiping the hand sanitizer just incase. What he had planned would probably be filthy enough as it is. 

 

When he entered the living room Clint was sprawled out on his back, completely naked on the couch, three fingers buried deep in his ass. It was the most glorious sight he had ever seen.  Phil knelt down beside where he lay on the couch, and set the plate behind him on the coffee table. 

 

“Look at you being so good. You look so pretty like this,” Phil said in awe. He then gently kissed Clint's lips, and leaned in to whisper once more in Clint's ear. “But I think you can do better. I think you can take a fourth, don't you. I'll even give you a special reward.” 

 

“Yes, sir,” Clint managed to whimper out. 

 

Phil sat back and watched as the younger man strained to tuck his pinky into the tight hole, his wrist twisting and turning, fingers flexing. Clint made the most adorable whining sounds as he writhed on the couch. Phil briefly wondered what that tight puckered hole would taste like with his sauce. 

 

“You did such a good job. I knew you would. Here's your reward” Phil said as he placed a small bite of brisket to Clint's lips, smearing them in the sauce before slipping it into Clint's mouth. Clint's eyes shot opened then slammed shut as he threw his head back and released a deep, loud groan. He gave Phil's fingers the same treatment as before. When Phil finally took his hand back, allowing the younger man to chew and swallow, Clint was panting and whimpering clearly in desperate need. 

 

“Fuck me, please! I'll be good,” Clint begged in a raspy voice. 

 

“I know you will,” was the last thing Phil said before he stood. He grabbed the plate and set on the end table next to his recliner and undressed in record time, draping his clothes over the back of the couch. With one final thought that could be considered intelligent, Clint took the time to clean his hands with the sanitizer too. 

 

Once Phil was seated, Clint wasted no time at all scrambling into his lap, condom in hand. When he was properly sheathed and lubed-all done courtesy of Clint who now understood why Phil wasn't touching him - he lowered himself slowly onto the older man’s swollen cock, whimpering as he did so. Even with all the earlier preparation, Phil still felt huge.

 

Clint adjusted to his girth and they quickly found an easy rhythm of him sliding along his cock and Phil's hips rocking up to meet him. When Phil fed Clint another bite he could practically feel Clint shuddering with pleasure around him, the brisket greedily taken from his hands, teeth grazing lightly along Coulson’s fingers.

 

“Like that?” Coulson purred, twisting his fingers so Clint could suck all of the sauce off. “So fucking eager for me.” He punctuated the  statement with a twitch of his hips. “You want more?” Phil asked holding another dripping bite just out of reach. 

 

“Mmm, mmm hmm. More. Please.” Clint whined, speeding up his movements. 

 

“Then earn it. Fuck yourself on my cock, nice and hard. Use my cock to make yourself come. It's the only way you’ll get more.” 

 

Clint raised himself up with his strong thighs till only the head was barely left inside. He slammed himself down with as much force as possible causing both men to groan in pleasure. Clint set a brutal pace trying his hardest to earn more of tender juicy smoked brisket that practically dissolved in his mouth, and the sweet and spicy hickory flavored sauce that tingled his tongue. 

 

Sweat began to accumulate on Clint forehead and his muscles strained with effort. It was a truly magnificent sight. When Phil finally slipped the piece into Clint mouth, his already tight walls clamped down on him in a vice-like grip. It wouldn't be long now. But there was something he had to enjoy first. 

 

“Look how pretty you are bouncing on my cock. You’re doing such a good job, Clint.” 

 

“Mmm, Phil.” Clint whined helplessly then held his mouth open in hopes of another treat.

 

As Phil continued to feed Clint and let him bathe his fingers with his tongue, tracking down every last drop, he took his free hand and covered his palm and finger in the warm sticky sauce. 

 

While still making sure Clint never went more than a moment with out his mouth occupied, he spread the sauce across Clint's chest, making sure his nipples were covered in it, up his neck and over his mouth. 

 

Withholding the meat briefly he started at Clint mouth kissing him passionately as well as lapping at his boy's lips, cheeks and chin. His boy. When had he begun thinking of him like that, he wondered fleetingly. Phil gradually worked his way down Clint's neck to his chest licking and sucking and biting, chasing every drop of sauce from his body. Phil made sure only clean skin was left in his wake. 

 

Clint sped up as he felt a warm tingling sensation in his tight little nubs, whimpering as he did so. “Ah fuck! My nipples,” he fought to get out through panting breaths. 

 

“It's all the chilies. Is it too much?” Phil asked in genuine concern. Perhaps this should have been thought out better. 

 

“Fuck no! Ah, it's amazing. Don't fucking stop.”

 

Phil fed another piece to Clint and resumed his work till he reached the sensitized nipples. As he began to clean them Clint's responses grew more dramatic. His lungs heaved, gasping in oxygen, his pace grew frantic, and his adorable whimpering and whining sound became constant. Most notably of all his engorged cock was so red, almost purple and leaking a small continuous stream of pre-come that smeared their abdomens as it bounced between them. 

 

Clint moved his hands from Phil's shoulders and placed them on his knees to lean himself back. The whimpers quickly turned to small shouts. Phil fed him once more, though as close as he was to coming himself his hand-eye coordination seemed to be slipping because it hit Clint’s cheek smearing sauce across it before it made it to his mouth. Once it did Clint latched onto Phil’s fingers while quickly downing the meat. He sucked ferociously, making a high pitched keening sound as he seated himself one last time and his body tightened and shuddered, gasping incoherent words and could. 

 

“Ah, yeah, ah...fuck, fuck me dah… Oh fuck, Phil!”

 

“That's it sweetheart, let me see you come.”

 

Phil continued rocking his hips into him to see him through the seemingly intense orgasm. Phil Watching his boy writhe on his lap, he thought the sight of Clint’s chest and belly covered in his own release was absolutely glorious. 

 

Not a moment later, before he’d even caught his breath, Clint began to move again a sign for Phil to finish. Phil was very appreciative of the gesture. He knew Clint had to be sensitive from his orgasm if it was half as intense at it looked. 

 

Phil grabbed Clint by the waist and flipped him so he was wedged diagonally between the plush armrest and back of the chair. Not the best position but Phil could make it work. He propped himself up above Clint on the armrest and chairback then set a punishing pace to find his release. He was so close, right at the edge, he just needed…something...a push. 

 

Still panting hard Clint reached beside him and picked up an almost whole slice of brisket that hadn't been cut properly, drenched in sauce. He tore it in half and slipped one piece into Phil's mouth. The other he swiped through the come on his belly and popped it in his own mouth and let out a pleasant hum. 

 

Between the delectable flavors bursting over his tongue, and the sight of Clint devouring his own fluids (on Phil's own barbecue no less) was just what he needed. 

 

“Fuck, Clint!” Coulson grunted out, coming hard, hips bucking up into the slick heat.

 

After a few moments, when the aftershocks had stopped, Phil expertly flipped them back to recover with Clint curled up in his lap. Clint nestled his head on Phil’s shoulder, both men heaving in ragged breaths. 

 

“I think you ruined me for the McRib” Clint said between breaths. 

 

Phil snorted. “Good. Someone needed to.”

  
  
  


“Damn that shit’s hot! What the hell do you put in it? I need water.”

 

Phil snorted. “It’s not that hot. It’s just some Ancho chilies and like...six habanero, no big deal. Besides you need milk not water. You should actually probably wash with it too. Or sour cream, that might work better.” Phil's cock actually lightly twitched at the thought of his boy covered in the thick cream. 

 

“Milk? Uh okay but if you make it chocolate then we're talking.”

 

Clint got his chocolate milk. And that, was the real problem. Not that Phil had trampled all over the Bro-Code, but that he was just a bit too willing to give the boy what he wanted. 

 

Afterwards, Clint nuzzled into Phil's neck and sighed. “Hey Phil?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“Please tell me we can have more.”

 

Phil tensed briefly then took a deep breath. He knew Clint wasn't just talking about the brisket. No, Clint was asking was if he had broken Phil down yet, or if this was just a dent in Phil's armour he had managed to make. Against all logic and good sense…he had. Still…

 

“Of course, Clint, there’s plenty more on the counter.”

 

Clint scoffed. Maybe it was the light tone Phil used. Maybe it was the innuendo. Whatever it was Phil could feel the younger man relax in his hold and smile in triumph into his neck.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We hope you all enjoyed that. I know I sure enjoyed writing it ;) Lola381pce and I plan on yet another installment that we will hopefully start. soon. 
> 
>  
> 
> Oh, HEB is a grocery store that is only in Texas, and is very much loved by Texans. They do stuff like that for their communities all the time.  
> Till then play with us on tumbler she is herself and I'm purpletie797
> 
> Thank you to all who have read and given feed back.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to all our readers reviewers and kudo-ers!


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